


5 Times Eliot Comforted Quentin and 1 Time Quentin Comforted Him

by enjolras_lexa



Series: Brakebills and Further (Q/E) [3]
Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Anxiety, Bisexual Quentin Coldwater, Depression, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Protective Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater Deserved Better, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21612877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolras_lexa/pseuds/enjolras_lexa
Summary: What it says on the tin.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Brakebills and Further (Q/E) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1441177
Comments: 42
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \- Fell off the planet during NaNoWriMo, only just resurfacing again  
> \- Still in my NaNoWriMo project, so I'll be a slow updater for a bit  
> \- basically felt bad and wanted a cute fic  
> \- me with a new project is Q with a quest nuff said

Quentin huffed loudly in frustration. Eliot couldn’t help but wince. It was the third time Quentin had done that in as many minutes.

“You okay over there, Q?” Eliot called from the opposite end of the Cottage’s common room. The cute first-year boy really was too high-strung for his own good.

“Fine,” Quentin muttered.

 _Okay…not a good sign,_ Eliot thought. He got up from where he and Margo had been cuddling – she gave him a not-so-subtle wink – and made for where Quentin was sitting hunched over the coffee table. He sat down on the couch next to him and waited for him to say something. Quentin just ignored him and repeated the complicated series of hand gestures over his transparent marble for the fiftieth time in the last hour. Nothing happened.

Quentin exhaled heavily through his nose and forcibly tucked the loose strands of unwashed hair behind his ears. “I can’t do this.”

“Just give it a little bit of a rest,” Eliot soothed, grabbing hold of Quentin’s shoulder and stroking his arm over the soft fabric of his sweater. “You’ve been working on that fucking marble all day. Just go have a hot shower and clear your head, I’ll mix you one of those new purple drinks I’ve been trying out –”

“No, I mean I can’t do _this_ ,” Quentin said harshly, “I-I-I I can’t do magic. I just…. can’t do it. They made a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Quentin they didn’t make a mistake.” Eliot didn’t know what to say. “You can definitely do magic. They don’t just let anybody in here, they _chose_ you.”

“No, no,” Quentin’s voice started shaking and his eyes got wide and shiny, “You don’t understand, I can’t- I can’t _freeze_ my _marble_.”

“You’re being insane.” Eliot shook his head. “I’ll make you that drink-”

“I’m never going to be a real magician! I’m a Squib! Do you know what they do to you if you don’t pass your PA midterm? They kick you out-”

“Hey, look at me,” Eliot grabbed Quentin by the shoulders and made him look at him. “No one is getting kicked out. Except maybe Todd.”

“Hey!” Todd said indignantly from across the room.

“And no one is failing their PA midterm,” Eliot finished. “You’re a great magician and I think all you need is a shower, a drink, some food, and a good night’s sleep. I can provide two out of four of those –” _maybe the shower too if it’s not too much to ask_ “–And then you’re good to go. The exam isn’t for another week. But, if you really want, Margo and I will tutor you. I’m sure if you asked Alice she’d help too.”

“Okay,” Quentin breathed. He seemed a lot calmer, and his voice wasn’t doing that breaking thing it did when he got emotional or enthusiastic about something anymore. “Okay.”

“So,” Eliot said, steering him toward the staircase, “Upstairs for a shower. And come down for pasta and a nice strong cocktail.”

“Thanks El,” Quentin said gratefully. He gave Eliot’s shoulder a squeeze, then finished going upstairs.

Margo scoffed loudly. “El, you are so goddamned whipped.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • I got a little book-reference-y if you can find them 
> 
> • if you listen closely you can hear my screams of frustration (exams, etc.) 
> 
> • thanks for the support so far! The next update probably won’t be for a while just to warn you.
> 
> • I untagged Qualice bc I want to do a different oneshot with either those two or the three of them. Polyamory > love triangles

Eliot jumped and startled, knocking over a painting which fell to the floor with a loud clang. “Jesus Christ Q!”

“Sorry.”

Eliot tried to get his heart rate to slow down. “Why are you lurking here in the dark?”

Quentin turned over into his side. He’d been lying down on the floor in the throne room when Eliot had tripped over him on his way to the royal banquet hall.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Quentin offered. He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry? Just thought I’d stay in here and watch the sun rise, my room doesn’t have windows as big as these.”

“It’s like 2am,” Eliot pointed out, “Even though we’re on weird Filliorian time the sun’s still not going to rise for a couple hours.”

“Oh.” Quentin sat up and stretched, his T-shirt riding up over his stomach. “I’ll just..... go back to my room then. Did I wake you up?”

Eliot shook his head. “I was going to get something to eat,” he said. “We had those great cream puffs for desert the other night, I was going to grab one of those and maybe make a little fruit salad. The servants here still haven’t let their High King so much as pick up a ladle, let along cook anything properly.”

“Well goodnight.” Quentin gave a little wave and made for the door, until Eliot called him back.

“Do you want a hot chocolate?”

Quentin blinked. “What?”

“A hot chocolate,” Eliot repeated. “Do you want one. The answer, in case you were wondering, is _yes_ and _thank you so much High King Eliot._ ”

“Thank you so much, High King Eliot,” Quentin deadpanned. “Yes though, thanks. That sounds really good right now. There’s hot cocoa mix in Fillory?”

“ _Mix_?” Eliot looked at him pityingly. “Oh Q. Oh you sad little boy. Come with me.”

Quentin glared from behind his hair, then followed him barefoot to the kitchen.

Eliot removed his blue tartan dressing gown he’d threatened Penny until he brought it back with him from Earth (the castle could get very drafty this time of year) and draped it around Quentin’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” Quentin muttered. Eliot smiled as Quentin pretended to sulk but wrapped the robe tighter around his shoulders.

“So,” Eliot said as he gathered the ingredients together and started melting chocolate over the wood stove. He lit the fire with a flick of his fingers. “You’re having trouble sleeping again?”

“Obviously,” Quentin said curtly. “I don’t want to talk about it. Normally I’d read, but reading the Fillory books in actual Fillory gives me a headache and I forgot _Codex_ back on Earth, so.”

“Well,” Eliot found himself grasping for words, “If you ever wanted to talk about it-“

“Thanks.” Quentin glanced down, then back up at Eliot. “Seriously, thank you. I- I will. Talk. At some point.”

Eliot nodded. He broke off a piece of the rich dark chocolate bar and handed it to Quentin, who took it silently and popped it in his mouth.

They just stood there silently for the next few minutes, as Eliot stirred in milk and sugar and Quentin fetched two large mugs and a plate of those cream puffs for them to share. They both mostly just tried their best not to wake up the whole castle.

“No whipped cream I’m afraid,” Eliot said, sprinkling cinnamon over the filled cups.

“That’s too bad, it’s the best part.” Quentin took a sip, careful not to burn his tongue. “Got to see the fairies tomorrow.”

“This is where I’m supposed to say, ‘fairies, what fairies.’”

Eliot let Quentin fill him in on what he and a few of the others had been up to, and sipped his hot chocolate. It was disgusting and cliché and ridiculous, and if it had been anyone else he would feel absolutely pathetic, but it was Quentin. This was the best part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new tags. 
> 
> TW for mentions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts. Moderate angst. Stay safe.

Quentin sat outside their house, staring at the mosaic tiles. They’d been there almost a year already. He was feeling....the way he usually felt. Which is to say...not good. It was just that a lot of the time he felt perfectly fine, except when he didn’t. And when he didn’t he had a nice little way of taking care of it.

He felt awful, there was no other way of putting it. He felt like if there were ever a Wikipedia page about him, it would end with the phrase “died by suicide at the age of 34.” Or sooner, probably, but he was still an optimist. He could very easily make it to 34. Maybe. If he made it through the year, let’s get through that first. Burn that bridge when we come to it. But yeah, he pretty much felt entirely numb right about now. He knew he needed to get through the quest at least, that people were depending on him, but at the same time so what if he did? He wasn’t particularly useful for anything, it wasn’t as though Eliot wouldn’t be able to finish the puzzle himself. It wasn’t as though any of the others actually needed him, he knew he wasn’t very good at magic (or anything really). He was just sort of okay at things. Most things anyway.

He’d already relapsed, he’d excused himself from the hut and used magic to draw a neat little red line on his arm, then gone back in and talked normally to Eliot as though nothing was wrong.Before this time he’d made it almost two months. His longest ever record was three, and that was only because of the quest. He’d had a rough patch with the depression-monster key, but other than that he had it under control. Once every two to three months was practically the dictionary definition of under control. And hey, whatever helps you make it through the day. God knew Eliot had used worse coping mechanisms in the past, if he ever found out Quentin might just be terrible enough to mention that little fact.

“Hey.” Here he was now, Eliot, looking down at him. “Just....hanging out on the ground, Q?”

“Yep.” Quentin pulled himself to his feet, adjusted his ponytail and pulled down his sleeve further over his arm. “Just thinking.”

Eliot nodded. They’d spent enough time alone together by now on this stupid fucking puzzle that he’d gotten a sense of Quentin’s mood swings. How he could be über-productive one day and lacklustre the next, talkative then next to nothing for hours. From sleeping too much to not sleeping at all.

“I’m not doing so hot, actually,” Quentin said suddenly. It came out like a question. He swallowed hard, and tucked a stray bit of hair behind his ear. “I- I did something I probably shouldn’t have.”

Eliot inhaled sharply. He knew about the scars, Quentin knew he must’ve seen them at some point given how close quarters they were now, but they’d never actually spoken about it. Some days Quentin actually thought Eliot had just never noticed them, but he knew that probably wasn’t true.

“Want to go for a walk?” Eliot suggested.

Quentin shrugged.

“Want to cook something?” Eliot thought for a moment. “Work on the puzzle? Cast something? Make out to relieve the tedium?”

Quentin knew he was joking, and yet...

“Want a hug?” Eliot’s voice had softened.

Quentin swallowed hard again. He nodded.

Eliot bent down his ridiculously tall body and wrapped his arms around Quentin. It felt solid, and comforting, and so much more like perfection than it was supposed to.

 _He doesn’t want you_ , Quentin had to remind himself. _No one wants you._

He’d made his peace with that. He wouldn’t get _it_ , that _love_ , he knew it wasn’t going to happen for him. Eliot had no business stirring up all those feelings that he’d mourned and buried. It wasn’t fair, not to either of them.

“I get it,” Eliot was saying. “I get it. Remember what I told you in your first year? When you thought you were about to be expelled from Brakebills?”

“Which time?” Quentin joked.

Eliot didn’t laugh. “It doesn’t get better,” he said, “I know it doesn’t fucking get better. That’s bullshit. But you are not alone here. Okay? Q? You’re not alone in this.”

Quentin pulled him closer, and let himself believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not doing so hot either at the moment, so it might be a while before the next update. ❤️ Thanks for all the encouragement so far   
> Until next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to season 1 - ish   
> Bc I wanted something comforting but less sad, so here’s a very little chapter

Eliot plunked down a large plate piled high with garlic bread, and fettuccine Alfredo with extra mushrooms on the table in front of Quentin. 

“What is this?” The little nerd had the nerve to ask. 

“Food,” Eliot said, enunciating like Quentin was three years old or stupid. “Eat. Now.”

___________

Quentin was moping. 

He’d been moping for the better part of the day, sitting on the couch in the Cottage’s common room and alternating between half-heartedly doing homework, reading some sort of fantasy novel, and staring into space. Eliot was getting more and more worried. It was getting on four o’clock in the afternoon and Eliot hadn’t seen him eat anything all day, so naturally he would make poor little Q a proper meal. What were friends (with a giant unrequited secret crush) for? 

Quentin carefully picked up the fork Eliot had laid out in front of him as though it were a bomb about to go off, then took a small mouthful of pasta as though he suspected it of having been poisoned. 

“Just eat the damn thing.” Eliot was getting frustrated. 

“Yes sir,” Quentin said sarcastically, but he ate. (Eliot was busy pretending that hearing Quentin call him sir didn’t turn him on.) 

Eliot sat there and watched him eat, a little creepily even by his standards, but if that was what it took then by God he would do it. He did steal a piece of garlic bread though. He wasn’t that far gone. 

“There,” Quentin said when he had finished. “Happy?” 

“Very.” Eliot made to take the plate back to the kitchen. “You do know you have to eat on occasion right? What’s wrong? You’ve been off all day.” 

“I’m fine honestly, don’t worry.” Quentin grimaced and looked away in a very Q-like fashion. “You’ll think it’s stupid-“ 

“Don’t you dare pull that no one understands me bullshit,” Eliot said sharply. “What happened?” 

There was a pause. 

“My favourite character died,” said Quentin in a very small voice. 

Eliot groaned internally, rolled his eyes, patted Quentin twice on the head, and went back to the kitchen. 

This called for cookies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q in this is us post season 4, we all know it 
> 
> I actually updated wow ❤️   
> Thanks for all the love so far, please continue to comment and kudos


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some actual writing??? More likely than you'd think
> 
> Thought I'd come back to this story in these difficult times. I'm away from uni indefinitely and kinda losing it so......idk. Wash your hands and stay safe
> 
> less fluff and comfort and more actual communicationTM

Eliot found Quentin moping on the bed in their little hut. They’d done a bit of work on the mosaic earlier, tried about two or three new combinations with no result, and so Eliot had gone to the village to chat with some of the townspeople. Get the gossip, change of scenery, that sort of thing. Usually Quentin would come with him on this type of trip, or suggest a walk in the forest instead if he didn’t feel like talking to anyone, or at least done something like clean the cabin or prepare supper (they alternated who cooked and who cleaned up afterwards). Today however, Eliot came back an hour or so later to find not so much as a lit candle, and Quentin staring at the spiders moving around on the ceiling.

“Something wrong?” Eliot found himself unusually irritated. He knew it wasn’t Quentin’s fault, not even Eliot was enough of a jerk to blame someone for being depressed, but by Ember the guy could be so apathetic about things sometimes. He knew Q cared, that wasn’t even a question, but it wasn’t unusual these days for him to sleep through the afternoon, or grunt in response to whatever Eliot was saying instead of actually answering.

Q sat up to peck Eliot on the lips before settling down again. Yeah, that was new too. Every other day Eliot wondered if it had been a mistake to get together at all, but he had plenty of days he was certain that everything felt so right.

“I- you know.” Quentin shrugged, as much a person lying down can be said to shrug. “We’re still here. The mosaic still isn’t done and we have no idea when it will be. Who knows what’s happening with all our friends who are effectively on another planet. Usual existential crisis of the day, don’t pay me too much attention.”

Something inside Eliot snapped. “Come on.”

Quentin didn’t move.

“I said come ON!” Eliot forcibly pulled Quentin out of bed and outside into the cool, mosquito-ridden air. “Look around, Q. This is our life, at least for the time being. We are here indefinitely! Get used to it.”

“You don’t think that’s a little harsh?” Quentin said testily.

Eliot’s lower lip twitched, and he bit it as though to punish it for showing emotion. “You want to live your life, live it here,” he said simply.

Quentin looked at him with that hard stare he got sometimes, until it got too much and Eliot had to turn away.

He made to go back inside, but Quentin blocked him with his body.

“Okay,” Q said.

“Okay?” Eliot sounded doubtful. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what that means,” said Quentin, and he kissed Eliot. It wasn’t a sleepy, passive kiss either, or a sexual one, just a firm, awake, I’m-still-with-you sort of kiss. “I know I’m not always easy to live with, and I appreciate being called on my bullshit.”

“You do?” Eliot asked. Again with the constant doubt. Doubt that they’ll ever finish the mosaic. Doubt that they should be together. Doubt that anything about his life could actually work.

“I do,” Quentin confirmed, “As long as you can take it too. It’s like pulling teeth to get you to answer a single personal question! All I know is you hate your dad, for very valid reasons I might add. But I don’t know your first kiss story, I don’t know anything about your exes, I don’t even think you’ve ever asked me anything like that. We just….you know. Have sex and do the mosaic. I need living here to have some sort of point to it beyond that.”

Eliot thought about it. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Now Quentin sounded doubtful. “That’s it? Just okay?”

“I’ll try,” Eliot clarified. “For you, I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to comment or kudos or...idk send me a telegram or something if this made your quarantine a little brighter or less bad


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis I, here to bring you entertainments in this time of plague! ok i'll stop being a dork, here's the last chapter

Eliot had been out of sorts for the past week, and Quentin had no idea what to do about it. He’d tried to distract him, but any attempt to ply Eliot with food or wine or sex had been dismissed with a phrase like “Maybe tomorrow Q, I’m just really tired right now” or “I’m going for a walk, don’t wait up.” They had both been tired lately, Quentin mused. It would seem like the only option left was actually trying to ask his – (boyfriend? Lover? Life partner?) – Eliot what was wrong, which neither of them had ever been all that good at. However, it would seem Quentin didn’t have much choice in the mat-

  
“What’s wrong?” he blurted.

  
“What?” Eliot blinked at him when his question had jolted them both out of staring into space. They’d been silently eating dinner.

  
Quentin flushed. “I just mean……what’s been eating you lately? I know it’s been over a year, and we’re both frustrated about the mosaic, but it seems like this is something else? I don’t know- you don’t have to talk about it obviously, I just thought since we’re—” He broke off.

  
“Since we’re what?” Eliot asked.

  
He sounded genuinely curious, but Quentin flinched away all the same. “I’ll clean up the pots and pans,” Quentin said instead, grabbing their things and heading towards the well to drag up a fresh bucket of water.

  
He’d just hoisted it up and was kneeling in the dark (thankfully Fillory didn’t seem to have mosquitos), trying to cast the right warming spell one-handedly and cursing all the while, when a tall shadow crept up next to him and nearly scared him out of his wits.

  
“I miss Margo,” Eliot said simply.

  
 _Margo_ , Quentin noted, not Bambi or Baby or Darling.

  
“I just—” Eliot huffed out a breath of air. “She’s my best friend. It’s been just us for so long, and ever since we met she’s been the only one who gets me. Like I mean _Actual Me_ , not the drink-mixing fast-talking demigod of parties and sexiness.”

  
“You sure do have some low self-esteem issues,” Quentin said dryly. Eliot shot him a look.

  
“I just miss her, that’s all.”

  
Eliot turned to walk back to the cabin, when Quentin dropped the bucket and grabbed his arm instead, pulling the taller man into a bear hug.

He didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, Eliot was aloof and touch-me-not on a good day other than for sex purposes, but once Eliot sighed and rested his chin on his shoulder Quentin knew he hadn’t fucked it up, yet at least.

  
“We’re boyfriends,” Eliot said unexpectedly.

  
Quentin didn’t know what to say. “We are?”

  
“Yes,” said Eliot, “I’ve decided it. Unless you have any objections, which it’s fine if you do, but—”

  
“Boyfriends,” Quentin cut him off. When had he ever heard Eliot ramble like that? He almost sounded like Quentin himself. “Boyfriends would be good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a big thank you to all who supported in the form of kudos and commentses, they were greatly appreciated 
> 
> i started watching season 5 and like...some episodes are fine but by and large the whole story is really random and slap-dash?? idk if you guys have thoughts you'd like to share  
> i still miss quentin :( 
> 
> <3 <3 <3 love you guys, stay safe


End file.
